James Rollins (Page 26)
Maggie pushed back up. “What do you mean?”
He pointed to a dark shadow at the edge of her light’s reach. She raised her lamp. Its glow reflected across the gold and silver like moonlight spilling on a still pond. Some dark island lay out there, a ripple on the pond. Maggie began to step closer with her light, one foot on the edge of the metal floor.
Denal stopped her, holding his crowbar across her path. “No, Miss Maggie,” he murmured. “Smells wrong here.”
“He’s right,” Norman said. “What’s that reek?”
Now brought to her attention, Maggie noticed an underlying stench that penetrated through the cloying scent of wet clay and mold. She nodded to the camera. “Do it again, Norman.”
Nodding, the photographer raised his camera as Maggie turned her eyes back to the floor. The flash exploded out into the room. Maggie swore and stumbled away from the tiles. “Sweet Jesus!”
She covered her mouth. She had been staring at the dark island on the room’s floor when Norman’s flash had burst forth. The tortured face still blazed in her mind’s eye. The torn and twisted body, the eyes wide with death, and the blood… so much blood. Another body lay beyond the first, close to the far wall.
“Juan and Miguel,” Denal mumbled.
There was a long stretch of silence.
“Gil didn’t do that to them, did he?” Norman asked. “Murder them for the gold?”
Maggie slowly shook her head. Juan’s mutilated form had become just a shadowed lump again. As she stared, the thudding heartbeat of some great beast still echoed across the treasure room. She now recognized it for what it was—the ticking of large gears behind the walls and floor of the room.
The warning etched on the chamber’s seals suddenly wormed through Maggie’s skull: We leave this tomb to Heaven. May it never be disturbed.
“Maggie?”
She turned to Norman. “No. Gil didn’t murder them. The room did.”
Before Norman could react, the chamber shuddered violently, throwing them all down. Maggie landed hard upon the edge of the plated floor, knocking the wind from her chest. Gulping air, she scrambled back, sensing the danger.
“What was that?” Norman yelled.
Maggie swung her lamp around. Through the entrance to the tomb, a thick cloud of dust rolled toward them. She fought to speak. “Och! Jesus! Up… up… !” Maggie urged them all.
“What’s going on?” Norman pressed, panic edging his voice.
Maggie pushed him toward the exit. “Goddamm it! Move, Norman! The bloody temple is collapsing!”
Sam checked on Ralph. The large black man pushed groggily up on his arms. His scalp had been clipped when a section of the roof had given way. Luckily a grinding from above had warned them before the sky came crashing down. “Are you okay?” Sam asked, dusting off his Wranglers.
Ralph rolled to his knees. “Yeah, I think.” He gingerly touched a bloody bump on his forehead. “I never been tackled by a slab of granite before.”
“Don’t move,” Sam warned. He collected the flashlight from where it had fallen. “I’m gonna check on what happened.”
Ralph scowled and climbed to his feet. “Like hell. We stick together.”
Sam nodded. Truthfully, he didn’t want to investigate on his own. This level of the temple was now almost a solid cloud of drifting silt and dust. Sam coughed, covering his mouth and nose with the crook of his elbow. “This way,” he mumbled. He led them back to the shaft leading up to the first level of the temple.
Ralph groaned as the remains of the shattered ladder came into view ahead. “This can’t be good.”
And it wasn’t. The way up was blocked by a jumbled pile of hewn boulders, like tumbled children’s blocks. “The first level must have entirely collapsed,” Sam said.
Sam’s walkie-talkie squelched static at his waist. He collected it and heard Philip’s frantic voice. “… okay? Report, goddamm it! Over!”
Sam pressed the transmitter. “Philip, Sam here. We’re okay.” Overhead, the roof moaned ominously; dirt drizzled down. “But I don’t know for how long. How’re you coming with tunneling in a new entrance from the base of the hill?”
Static… then… “… just found the looter’s shaft. It’s barely begun… at least two days… sent for help, but don’t know how long…” Static overwhelmed the tinny voice of their fellow student, but Sam had still heard the panic.
“Shit, two days…” Ralph grumbled. “The temple will never last that long.”
Sam tried to get more information from Philip, but only snatches of words made it through. “I’ll try to reposition for better reception,” Sam yelled into the radio. “Stand by!”
He slipped the walkie-talkie away. “Let’s find the others. Make sure they’re safe.”
Ralph nodded. “Maybe it’s best if we holed up in the lowest level anyway.” Another small groan sounded overhead. “It looks like this place is going to crumble one level at a time.”
Sam led the way through the corridors. “Let’s just hope we’re rescued before we run out of levels.”
Ralph had no rebuttal and followed in silence.
Just as they reached the ladder that led down to the third level, Sam saw Norman pop out of the shaft, his eyes wide in the flashlight. The photographer held a hand against the glare. “Thank God, you’re okay!” Norman said in a rush. “We didn’t know what we’d find.”
Denal came next. Sam noted the crowbar in the teenager’s hand, but didn’t comment on it.
Maggie climbed out last. “What happened?” she asked tersely, clicking off the Wood’s lamp.
“The top level collapsed,” Sam said, and quickly recounted their narrow escape. “With the upper levels so shaky, we thought it best to shelter in the fifth level. Just in case.”
“So we keep our heads as low as we can,” Maggie said.
Norman eyed the ladder. “That means back down again.”
Sam saw a worried glance pass between Maggie and Norman. “What is it?”
“We found Juan and Miguel down there,” Norman said.
Sam knew from his tone and manner that the men were not alive. “What happened to them?”
Maggie answered, “You’d better see for yourself.” She turned away.
In silence, the group clambered down the ladders to the deepest level of the temple. Sam soon found himself staring at the scattered seals of the door. “The bastards…” he mumbled under his breath as he bent by the doorway.